Sirius
Sirius let out a soft sigh. Feeling a subtle, unnameable emotion as he realized the warmth of the woman sleeping beside him no longer felt foreign, he carefully leaned over to look at her face.
It was a face with delicate contours, small and smooth, well-shaped. Beneath her eyelids, where long lashes cast faint shadows with every rise and fall of her breathing, lay crimson irises like the color of the setting sun.
Eyes that always met his directly. Though they were closed now, that gaze often turned toward him.
Eyes blazing with certainty, as if she feared nothing. Sirius had once found himself a flicker of interest about those eyes.
Yes, it was time to admit it. âInterest.â
He had thought that, by now, he would be numb to everything. The realization that he had come to feel such an emotion was curious, even disregarding the slight discomfort of unfamiliarity. He had never expected himself to be moved in such a way, which is why he hadnât pushed this womanâLilimâaway.
She was a strange woman.
Fragile, so fragile and delicate that it seemed as though even a touch would snap her. If he grasped her wrist carelessly, it seemed like a bruise would appear, her skin blue from the pressure. She was like a porcelain shard among stones, liable to shatter if mishandled.
She seemed blissfully unaware that her continued existence was a stroke of luck, that she should have died long ago. Despite this, she flitted around as if her life was something to be casually tossed aside. It irritated him, so he found himself paying attention, yet whenever they crossed paths, he couldnât quite figure out how to handle her.
It wasnât because he regarded her as anything special. He simply had the sense that if he interacted with her, he would become entangled in something far greater than he anticipated. Like biting into an overripe fruit only to ruin his clothes with its bursting juices, he wanted to avoid that kind of mess.
Sirius was not as cruel as people thought. He had no interest in tormenting the weak. His disregard for those who would be hurt by his touch was, in his own way, an act of kindness.
Yet Lilim, the demon, was more persistent than he had expected, like a grain of sand in his eye he couldnât shake off.
âWhy is she by my side?â
It was beyond his understanding.
He had a feeling he might regret it. Emotions were an unknown to him, things to be buried before they grew or became too complicated.
âIf I killed her.â
If he were to kill her now, perhaps he could preemptively lessen any future suffering. The thought arose in him, close to certainty. He knew that his hand, or even just his fingers, were more than enough to crush her head.
But when he looked at her peacefully asleep, resting her head without a care in the world, he withdrew his hand.
He didnât want to lose this unknown feeling left inside him, no matter how overwhelming it might become.
Sirius didnât know the names of things like buttercups. He had no reason to think about or lend his ear to flowers, small blades of grass, delicate things that would soon disappear, or little insects scurrying across the ground. Nothing remained after the fire swept through. It seemed only the strong and rough could survive on this nameless land. In a place where sandstorms whipped the ground and bodies piled up, softness was an oddity.
Even his gentle friend Fomalhaut and his strict yet kind cousin Acherna had blood-stained hands.
Perhaps his father had been different. He seemed to hold onto an untainted kind-heartedness in this world. A gentle and frail father who had once held his hand with a bright smile. Like his pale hair, he was a person who seemed destined to fade and disappear. He was too gentle for this world, and so he died, leaving his young son behind, dying without killing a single person.
Sirius loved his fatherâloved him more than anything in this worldâand did not despise weakness. He knew that there was frailty one could not overcome despite all efforts, and so he didnât wish to be cruel. Yet, he had become the bane of those with gentle natures.
Perhaps there were things he had wanted to protect.
Sirius loved the weak.
He wanted to love the ephemeral.
Ironically, the things he loved were always frail, and even he, the strongest, could not hold onto them forever. They faded as if they couldnât bear his grasp. He could feel his gentleness, kindness, and compassionâa pain so sensitive that he hadnât even shed tears upon his birthâslowly withering inside him, and so, like a remnant instinct, he found himself wanting to protect those whose vulnerability lay as visible as a thin skin.
Fragile things. Things like small sparks that would vanish in a breeze. Weakness, warmth, sensitivity to pain that he couldnât understand but had longed forâall things he had never taken the time to truly see or know.
Someone had seen right through him.
Sirius stood silently in the field of buttercups when Lilim approached him.
Not wanting to be disturbed but too tired to walk away as usual, Sirius closed his eyes.
âButtercups. You know, even this cute little flower is poisonous. Not to us, thoughâŚâ
Though he wasnât sentimental enough to find the many swaying flowers at his feet âcute,â he did notice them now that she had named them.
âDo you like flowers?â
âNot particularly.â
âBut youâre always in flower fields.â
Was he?
Perhaps these small, fragile living things put him at ease. When he wanted to escape thoughtlessly, he found he could breathe a little easier near such things.
Did he feel the same way toward Lilim? As a small realization dawned on him, Sirius furrowed his brow.
âIf you didnât, you couldâve just said so. Why the scowl? For someone who has no expression.â
As Lilim muttered, pouting a bit, Sirius glanced at her briefly before closing his eyes again. Watching him, she bent down and reached for a flower. Each time her fingers touched one, there was a faint rustling sound.
âI like them.â
She added, as if something had just occurred to her,
âAnd I like you, too.â
âJust in case you get jealous,â she joked, and Sirius wondered whether now would be a good time to leave. Heâd occasionally felt that her bright, clear voice tickled his ears, but he didnât dislike it. It was just that he felt complicated, disrupted by such meaningless chatter.
âTired?â
âIf you know that, go. Or leave me alone.â
âWell, thatâs true, butâŚâ Rustle. Rustle. Whatever she was doing, his overly acute senses, like a light breeze brushing past him, detected her actions even with his eyes closed. It seemed she was squatting down and fiddling with something.
After a while, he heard a soft âDone,â and felt something gently placed on his head.
âI donât like leaving someone with worries alone.â But since I know you like solitude, Iâll leave you be.
After hearing her softly whispered words near his ear, her footsteps grew distant. Her steps were as light as her form, and if he didnât listen closely, they would have quickly faded, but here, at least, it was quiet. It was peaceful. He could listen for a while.
Once the sound of her steps was gone, Sirius lifted a hand to his head.
He touched a small flower crown.
Was that what she had been working on? He sighed softly, looking down at it.
What was she thinking, giving him something like this? There could hardly be anyone it suited less.
